Fog Against the Window
by SummerSkies2007
Summary: Magnus thinks about his past with Dethklok.


Authors Note: Do not own Dethklok. I decided that Magnus needed a little bit of love in the fanfiction department. Hope you enjoy!

Magnus Hammersmith stared out the window of his crappy, two-room cabin, watching the snow float lazily down from the lifeless grey sky, like diatomaceous ooze filtering down to the ocean floor below. Magnus might as well have been on the bottom of the ocean for as much good as it did him. The pressure he felt was crippling, and at times he felt like both his head and his heart might explode at any moment. His depression was deepening and he felt himself slowly sinking deeper into the darkness. The feeling was settling in his heart like cold lead-brittle, heavy and it was starting to slowly freeze him to death from the inside out.

His falling further down his spiral, when even everyday life started to become unbearable. He was slowly becoming more and more reclusive with each passing day. He could hardly bring himself down from his crappy little cabin in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, to the shitty town nearly a half hour drive down his crappy gravel road. Every facet of life was being taken over by his old band. He couldn't even get a fucking cup of coffee at the town's one and only coffee joint, because Duncan Hills was affiliated with Dethklok. He couldn't even treat himself to a fucking coffee without being reminded of what he was missing out on!

Their smug, scowling faces were plastered everywhere, on the pages of magazines, their skeletal faces on coffee cups. Hell, nearly half of this redneck town were diehard Dethklok fans, which was saying something, as his fucked up little town looked like it could have stared in Northern Exposure. Shouldn't they be listening to old school country music? Watered-down elevator-style pop music? Classic rock? Anything but god damn Deth metal! Where did all the fucking right-wing Republicans go in this country?! He ran all the way to the northern Midwest to escape Dethklok, but that was not to be.

Every fucking day Magnus woke up in his shabby queen size bed, alone, (save for his cat, Gibson), was like rubbing lemon juice and salt in the wound. He was fucking Magnus fucking Hammersmith. The bastard who got kicked out of Dethklok. That meant he was unemployable. No job would hire him so here he was at thirty nine, scraping by with part time jobs and being a guitar tuitor for half-wit middl- schoolers No band would have him either-they were too fucking scared of him. They figured if the most brutal band in history kicked him out, then he had to be some kind of monster.

Monster!? The band chucked him out over a stupid knife wound. Be deal. From what he could tell, the band was responsible for the deaths of nearly a million fans! Each band member had been responsible for at least a few dozen deaths of their own employees-the Gears! Toki Wartooth, the new rythim guitarist, apparently went ape-shit during a concert and beat a man's face completely in. Not to mention all the various drunken rampages, killing thousands of fans and bystanders alike! But, that was fine, they were fucking DETHKLOK!

He was the one that should have been with them on the ascent to fame. He was the one who kept those stupid, immature shits in line! Fuck, that idiot drummer would have drowned in his own vomit a dozen times over if it weren't for him helping him up, cleaning him up, checking up on him! How many times had the drummer nearly drowned in the bathtub because he decided that vodka and a bubble bath sounded peachy? And who was it who hauled the redhead out of the tub, dried him off , clothed the stupid shit (and that was god damn gross by the way, dressing an unconscious full grown man in his pajamas) and dragged him bodily to bed? Magnus.

And Nathan, that over-grown panther. He was a fucking retard when he was stoned, couldn't find his ass with both hands and a map. He also had a bad habit of deciding to drive when he was obviously too shitfaced too. And Skwisgaar-that overly confident little Swedish shit. How that fucker wasn't dead of AIDS and every STD known to man (perhaps unknown too) was beyond him. The blond kept OD'ing on crystal meth, leaving Magnus to take him to the ER. He also took the stupid kid to the hospital when he kept getting allergic reactions to certain food-only to discover he was allergic to fucking cilantro! Who is allergic to cilantro anyway? And that lazy slobbering bassist-who kept him from fucking up his hands with all that sick self-harm he was into? Magnus.

Ok-so getting pissed off and stabbing Nathan wasn't one of the smarter things he had done. He knew that. It wasn't his best moment. He was so fucking stressed out that month-they had nothing to eat, played precious few gigs, and no one except for himself and perhaps Pickles was taking practicing their music seriously. He knew he could come off controlling, but he was just trying to get them to behave-because they kept acting like a group of mentally retarded ten year olds. If you weren't on their asses every minute of the day, you would go leave to take a piss, and come back to find the couch on fire, and the bassist duct taped to the wall. It was ridiculous. Nathan wasn't helping things either-they would get a good song, practice the shit out of it, and then he would decide not to use it anymore, because it wasn't "right". No wonder he had long, white streaks in his hair. He was surprised he wasn't bald.

Magnus sighed against the window, his breath fogging the glass. Next week will be better, he promised himself. He was going to finally get a paying job. It wasn't anything too great, but at least it was better then flipping burgers at Dimmu Burger, or playing janitor at some stupid law firm. He was finally getting a job to use his musical talents. He was going to be a counselor at Rock-a-Rooni Fantasy Camp. He knew he was going to be in good company- it was where all the over-the-hill aging former rock stars went when all other jobs dried up. The irony.

Gibson, soft and fluffy as ever, rubbed his head against the man's long slender legs, purring contentedly.

"You know, Gibson.. maybe things will start to look up after all.." Magnus murmured softly, bending over to scratch the underside of the cat's head, smiling gently for the first time in a very, very long time.


End file.
